


Mouth Is Wine

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Series: Brothers Grim [10]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben POV, Dry Humping, Feelings, M/M, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, adoptive incest, butt stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: “Feels, Benny. Chemical re-adjustments firing neurons off in new and confusing ways. Dopamine, oxytocin, testosterone---”He moves in a little closer with every word, wrapping himself around Ben like he’s the one with the tentacles. “Like a little meth lab in your brain, but instead of uppers it’s feelings and no one’s considering toilet bowl cleaner as a reasonable additive.”





	Mouth Is Wine

**Author's Note:**

> so! The full chapter version of this is up - Grim Adventure of Broken Toys. 
> 
> as always, I love to hear from y'all. 
> 
> Buckle up, you fucking sluts. This is a feels chapter. 
> 
> but like, also butt stuff. 
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Poison and Wine by Civil Wars.

 

“I think this might make you my sugar baby.” Klaus tosses a crinkly sack of jelly beans - all black - onto Ben’s stomach, where he’s sprawled on the sofa in the office. 

 

Ben holds a jelly bean up between two fingers, watching the glossy surface reflect the dusty light, with a keen edge to his gaze better reserved for inspecting diamonds. It’s just -  _ black jelly beans _ . Klaus use to inexplicably leave three to five under Ben’s pillow every single day of the week but Sunday. He denied it vehemently, and called them rabbit poop. Ben would hoard them in a little glass jar under the floorboards in his closet until bad missions or bad training days. 

 

And when these came and went, and he was scrubbed clean of any speck or spatter, Ben would tuck himself into the back of his closet and eat every single one until his belly ached and the taste of blood was gone from his mouth. It's such a vivid thing; a palpable push to the memory, pressing up against his chest that makes his tongue tingle with that thick, cloying phantom flavor. He can taste them from that memory alone, even as he holds them in his hand. Klaus is watching him, and Ben wants to say something...anything. To acknowledge that little expanse of time when they were kids and Klaus was  _ still  _ taking care of him.

 

“You’re a really good brother.” 

 

Klaus blinks at him, half-way to unfolding himself into the desk chair. “What an unsettling thing to say to someone who wants to lick your asshole. Repeatedly.” 

 

He hates the heat that bites at his cheeks. You’d think with all the times Klaus has made Ben come - and versa - he’d be less inclined to blush at the mention of anything sordid, but you’d be wrong.  In fact, Ben sort of things he blushes more now than he ever did. Ignorance might have been bliss, but you couldn’t burn the image of Klaus with two fingers up his own ass out of Ben’s mind with actual fucking fire.  And those are the things Ben thinks of, when Klaus looks at him even so much as sideways these days. 

(And Klaus fucking knows it.)

 

Still - black jelly beans make for a sweet memory, and the overlay to all the fucking orgasms is just as jarring as you’d expect. Ben hasn’t exactly forgotten that they grew up brothers, but it’s somehow become secondary to whatever else they’re doing.  Maybe it’s the uncoupling of his life, Before and After death. He remembers being alive, but sometimes it’s like a watercolor painting, where it makes more sense if you’re not seeking out details. As soon as he tries, everything goes soft-touched, faces blur all one and the same, and the colors don’t stay inside the lines. He’s not  _ forgetting  _ \- he remembers.  

 

He remembers what it felt to wake up Saturday morning to fresh blueberry muffins, the way Grace’s dresses smelled like lavender and circuit boards when she pulled him into a hug, and Klaus’ smile as he and Ben hunkered down in the bottom of his closet with flashlights and copies of  _ Calvin and Hobbes _ lifted from the public library.  Diego growing inches faster than any of the others ( with even Luther chasing at his heels), the way he’d scoop them up like they weren’t the same age, and swing them around the yard until they fell into a dizzy, laughing heap.  Five shifting his peas to Ben’s plate, and stealing his carrots between Sir’s evenly timed up-glances from his newspaper. 

 

It’s just that...that was then. And now is  _ here _ . What does it matter that Klaus is his brother? It should bother Ben more than it does, should make him squirm at the moral indecency, but  _ brothers  _ was what life had given them and Ben knew  _ death _ . Those things we had no control over shaped us less than the choices we made. Life. _ Life _ ! Life had made them brothers, but Death had made them  _ choose _ . Ben chose to stay with Klaus, a half life better than no life with his  _ brother _ . Klaus had let himself be haunted and every day they made those choices, again and again. 

 

That’s so much more significant than what they do with their dicks. 

 

“It was the postman,” Klaus says, out of nowhere, just as Ben’s sank his teeth into a bean. “The jelly beans. I got them from the postman, when he’d bring Sir’s paper in the morning. I’d trade them for one of Mom’s cookies, and I always saved the black ones for you because you’re the only person on Earth who likes them.” 

 

Another memory; Grace in the kitchen with a line of small, porcelain plates and dainty cloth napkins. They were allowed two cookies every evening, with a choice of milk, cocoa or tea.  It was often the only moment of respite they were given, between lessons, tutors, and the private  _ talent-driven _ studies they were constantly subjected too.  

 

It’s such a small, honest spill of words, innocuous on the surface but with unknown depths.  Ben can’t keep himself from replying in kind. “Because of the blood,” he says, the words out of order, as he swings himself up to sit right on the couch. “I liked them because of the blood in my mouth, after--- Black jelly beans were the only thing that ever covered the taste of it.” 

 

Klaus takes a moment, so long the quiet between them starts to vibrate. He looks at the ceiling, he looks at the floor. He looks at his knees, the desk, the curtains, the door. He looks at  _ everything  _ but Ben. “I---I know.” And when he does look at Ben, it’s through the dark spider-leg sweep of his lashes. “I knew. About what he made you do. Your private lessons.” 

 

“The ones we killed---” Ben makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Klaus stops. “I helped.” 

 

“Not a single one.” None of them ever killed a single soul, not a single fucking soul, except Ben. “You didn’t. But they---They haunted you, didn’t they?” He should have known. He should have  _ known _ . 

 

“Sometimes.” He smiles a little, but it’s sad. “They were scared of you, so they usually stayed away. But some of them talked. And they told me---how you cried---” 

 

He had. Every single time Sir made him do it - he’d cried. Bit, salty, gut-churching sobs. By the time he’d reached sixteen - he’d managed to control himself to a few rolling tears but even that made Sir’s mouth go thin, sharp with disapproval. 

 

“ _ Klaus _ .” 

 

“I cried too.” Klaus pushes up from the desk chair to join Ben on the squat, velveteen couch. “We talk about the crypts a lot, and Vanya’s starting to remember her time in the locker. But we don’t talk about you.” 

 

Ben had never been much of a talker and for the most part - Klaus was the most understanding of this. “I have tentacles for intestines and I’m actually dead. What’s there to talk about?” Klaus makes a face - an indecisive one that tells Ben he wants to accept that and let it go but some familial sense of duty is about to object. Klaus is a caricature of a real person “Klaus...For real. I don’t even --- it all seems hazy, anymore. Like it was a thousand years ago. If I don’t think about it, I barely remember it and that’s a fucking gift, okay? Not one I’m looking to unwrap or unpack.” Somethings, Ben thinks with absolute irony, are better left for dead. 

 

“I think I might be selfish,” Klaus says, from nowhere and beyond. “I don’t want to be selfish with you. I want to be...responsible and shit.” 

 

_ And shit.  _ “You’re not even responsible for me! Is that---is that what all this about? Klaus - you’re not responsible for me.”    


Klaus had never been anything more than he’d been stubborn, and Ben knows that on a cosmic fucking level, so he should know the signs of Klaus digging in his platform heels. “I’m the reason you’re here.” 

 

Which isn’t even - What? No. “I chose to stay.” 

 

“No I---I know  _ that _ . But I’m there reason you’re kind of alive again.” He throws his hands up, like that’s a final, inarguable gauntlet.  _ See? _

 

“That doesn’t mean you’re responsible for me! I could leave any time I wanted.” And he wanted to less and less those days. “You’re not responsible for me, okay? You don’t need to stress out about it.” 

 

“I want to be.” Klaus is leant back on the couch, taking up more than his fair share of the small space. Ben just...looks at him, helpless to it. His arms are spread wide like some sort of personal Jesus on dusty sage velvet, with a backdrop of moth-eaten lace curtains in shifting shades of faded cream. He’s wearing last nights eyeliner, and glitter holds tights to the long, loose curls of his hair. When he turns to look at Ben, mouth drawn into a frown. “You took care of me a long time Ben. I think it’s probably my turn.” 

 

“I didn’t even - I didn’t do shit.” Ben made things worse, honestly.  The constant visage of your dead brother could do that. 

 

“If I could hear you, it made hearing the rest of them easier.” A hand creeps over Ben’s shoulder and then---they’re touching. In a non sexual manner. They’re...cuddling.  It’s somehow more obscene to him than anything else they’ve done. It’s innocent but terribly awkward, and Ben can feel the rigid lines of Klaus right alongside his own. They don’t know how to cuddle. Their father was a fuck and their mother was a robot.  

 

He’s not really sure what the fuck to  _ do  _ \- so he does what he always does, and makes himself small.  Fits himself into the curl of Klaus arm, and lets his head come to rest on Klaus shoulder. Something unlocks in Klaus, and a smidge of the stiffness gives. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he tells Ben, as he curls into him, rests is cheek against Ben’s hair. “I fucking hate talking about it. But I think it’s healthy, you know.” 

 

“Like what we did at the mausoleum.” Ben lifts his head up, knocking hard into Klaus’s jaw. “I don’t want to fuck around in the cellar. I don’t ever want to go back there.” 

 

And Klaus is just there, looking at him with his big stupid eyes and then he’s cupping Ben’s jaw and it’s all just---not like it usually is. Not at all. It feels different. Heavy, like a blanket is heavy. Not...Not bad. Just new. Ben isn’t entirely distracted by anyone's genitals for one. But his heart’s still going too fucking fast and these are the moments that being a ghost seems so appealing.  Ghost-body never betrays him. 

It’s...It’s weird to kiss Klaus, even still. But especially when Ben isn’t so out of it he can feel every fucking inch of his body.  He feels like --- he feels a lot like how he felt when Klaus would squeeze himself in beside Ben on the closet floor. Hot, and tingly and ready to fly out of his skin.  _ Holy shit _ , Ben thinks. Did he have a fucking crush on Klaus as a child and just...didn’t know to fucking notice it until now? God - their childhood really was fucking tragic. “Feelings are stupid,” he manages to say, and feels Klaus smile against his mouth. “Everything is stupid. Your face is stupid. Oh my god,  _ stop smiling at me like that _ , you look like a lunatic.” 

 

“Feels? For reals? Feelings? Are you having...emotions, Bentacles? You gonna share with the class?”He rifles Ben’s hair, scratching his long, black nails across his scalp and it zips through his body lie he’s touched Ben all over. “ _ Feels _ , Benny. Chemical re-adjustments firing neurons off in new and confusing ways. Dopamine, oxytocin, testosterone---”He moves in a little closer with every word, wrapping himself around Ben like he’s the one with the tentacles. “Like a little meth lab in your brain, but instead of uppers it’s feelings and no one’s considering toilet bowl cleaner as a reasonable additive.” He gets Ben secure using both his legs and arms, and licks his fucking face because he’s Klaus and when he knows something works - he fucking works it. “Tell me. Tell meeeee.  _ Tell me right now.”  _

 

“I already told you, you’re a good brother!” Ben squirms, but he’s effectively caged in the bend of Klaus arm, half curled into his chest.  Klaus---Klaus is the  _ worst _ , is what Klaus is and Ben can’t help but fucking squeal as Klaus digs his fingers into the soft give of Ben’s side. “Fuck you! I’m leaving!” He could. He could. He could pop right out and Klaus wouldn’t stop him. Could stop him, yes, but wouldn’t. Klaus stops tickling him, if only to grab Ben’s wrists before he can retaliate. “ _ Klaus _ !” But it’s no use. Klaus is bigger, long-limbed and unexpectedly strong and Ben likes how it feels.  Doesn’t hurt that Klaus isn’t even trying to be subtle about the way his body moves, dragging up hard against Bens. He’s got a thigh between Ben’s leg that’s not doing enough, and he’s got his dry, soft palms all over Ben’s skin which is doing too much. 

 

“I might have a few feelings of my own, you know. Rattling around. On the subject of you,” Klaus is a little breathless where he’s sprawled under Ben, holding his wrists tight in his own, pinning Ben back to his chest. He presses a kiss into Ben’s sweaty temple, breaths him in for a long while, makes him feel more real in the moment than maybe he ever did when he was alive. “Some of them brotherly. Some of them not.” 

 

“Yeah, I can feel the ones that are not.” He takes a little pride in the dry tenor of his voice, like he’s not in a similar state.  It’s a Pavlovian response to proximity. He’s been mentally  _ conditioned _ .

“It’s an affection-erection, Benny,” Klaus crows, grinding his dick up against the small of Ben’s back. “It’s my  _ heart boner. _ ” 

 

“Are you gonna touch my dick or what?” Ben mutters it into the daylight, eyes tightly closed. The rabbity, achey, desperate itch under his skin only seems to grow when Klaus puts his hands on him and Ben will do anything - anything - to not prolong this conversation. “I could blow you?” 

 

“A compelling offer,” Klaus agrees, without so much as slowing the roll of his hips where he’s fucking up against Ben’s back. “But I have a better idea.” 

 

And then - somehow - Ben’s face down on the couch. It’s such a sudden shift, he feels as if gravity can’t catch up, leaving him upside down and rightside up all at once. And then Klaus is there, with a soft hand on his throat, painting up to cup his chin, his pointy elbow buried into the cushion, holding himself up. He kisses Ben’s cheek, open mouthed. Ben holds himself still for it, fingers biting into the edge of the cushion where it meets the arm of the couch - holds himself still and waits for what Klaus will do. 

 

Klaus breaths out harshly, hand still holding him so fucking gently. He drags his mouth - still open and warm and wet - over the curve of Ben’s neck. The pull of it, wet and warm, against Ben’s skin feels like too much and not enough, even with the whole of his body still pinning Ben down. It’s so many points of contact, so much pressure, so much heat, Ben holds his breath. 

 

“ _ God _ , Benny.” There’s a tremble to Klaus voice, to the lines of his arms, that Ben doesn’t fully know how to appreciate. He presses his mouth hard to Ben’s neck, breathing harshly through his nose. “You don’t even---” He smooths a shaking hand down Ben’s body, lets it curl under his hip where he’s flush against the couch. “Fuck - you are just...You really fuck me up, baby boy,” Klaus laughs, soft, warm puffs of breath spilling on Ben’s skin. “You don’t even  _ know _ .” 

 

Ben doesn’t. Ben has no idea. Ben often wonders what Klaus gains from their...from the thing between them. Ben is inexperienced, Ben isn’t even  _ real  _ sometimes.  Alive. He can't do the things Klaus wants, may never be able to do the things Klaus likes. Ben can’t hurt him, not in the ways that make him go lax and soft and sleepy. Ben isn’t even really ready to blow him, gets nervous at so much as the thought of anything coming near his ass. Klaus - Klaus is very attractive, very charming, very  _ sexual _ . Ben can’t keep up, has to have his hand held for literally every little thing, and Klaus holds it. Ben’s not really sure why. 

 

“I’m not---” Klaus hand, the one beneath his chin, moves so slightly...just enough that the pad of his thumb presses against the corner of Ben’s mouth and it’s so fucking distracting, he almost forgets what he was saying. “I’m not doing anything.” 

 

“I know.” Klaus laugh is a broken, wild thing. A  _ real  _ thing. “You’re so good for me. You are  _ so good.  _ Everything you fucking do---Christ. You’re a natural, you just---every time---”

 

The words are their own heat, and they burn him up in all the best and worst ways. Ben’s still not always sure he wants to be like this, this helpless desperate little monster hungry for scraps of affection, or praise. He hate it. He  _ hates  _ it.  But Klaus is so fucking...so fucking  _ generous _ . He never asks anything of Ben, not really, and no matter what Ben choose - he’s always fucking  _ thrilled _ . It’s heedy, hot, a liquid sort of thing that pools low in his belly and makes him want to be  _ good _ .  Like that sort of  _ want  _ isn’t so shameful, not when it puts that shake in Klaus voice. Klaus likes all the things Ben doesn’t mean to do, and it feels so easy, Ben can’t stop. 

 

He doesn’t mean to push back, raise his ass up to meet the push of Klaus dick. He’s not really thinking when he tips his head back, and follows the press of Klaus’ thumb, kissing it. There’s no intent behind the way he shifts his weight to his elbows, so he can get more leverage, but---

 

“Fuck,” Klaus hisses, grabbing his face too hard for only a moment, losing himself. It’s that. It’s  _ that _ .  It’s that very thing - Klaus getting so fucking into Ben and all his virginal bullshit...that makes it easy. To be good. It’s a sexual synergy, the way it seems to bounce between them.  Klaus...Klaus had been with a lot of people that didn’t care if Klaus got off or not, so much so that Ben sometimes thought Klaus had a kink for the dismissal, like he sought them out. 

 

But Ben and Klaus aren’t really like that. Klaus  _ likes  _ what Ben does - whether he means to do it or not. And Ben would tell himself its a fluke, it’s just sex - but he’s see what  _ just sex _ is for Klaus and it’s not this. 

 

“When you held your breath, just now.” Klaus shudders and Ben tries very hard not to grind himself into the couch. “Fuck, you’re too good. It’s too much.” 

 

And because it all feels like to much to Ben, it’s nice to know that...that he’s not alone in the sensation. 

 

“Look at you, already grinding on my dick.” Klaus presses sloppy, sticky kisses up his neck, dragging his teeth soft against Ben’s skin. He’s gentle with Ben, soft and safe and Ben knows what Klaus is capable of. Knows the bite of his nails can cut, the flex of his fingers can bruise, but never, ever with Ben. The tenderness is...it’s a lot. Makes him burn. “You’re a natural, baby boy. Sometimes I think  you were fucking made for this, you’re so good at it.” 

 

Ben was made to play home to thousand year old bloodthirsty monsters. But who is he to correct Klaus, when Klaus is touching him all over?

 

The push of Klaus as he rides against Ben is absolutely going to be enough to get him off, no question. It’s a slow burn build, like something hot bubbling up and up and up and over his his belly. He balances on a precept, all squirmy pleasure and new heat. For the first time, a thought forms in his head, strong enough to make itself known. Ben usually doesn’t get ideas when they’re like this, too caught up in all the sweeping pleasure. This time,  though, he has a thought. There are too many clothes between them, all the places Klaus is touching bare skin burn better, burn brighter, and Ben wants more of that. Has the iota of patience even to say it, almost. “Do you wanna---” He says, struggling to get the words in his mouth. “Do you wanna---” 

 

“Probably,” Klaus says, hiccuping on a laugh. “C’mon baby, tell me what you want?” 

 

_ What  _ you want. 

What  _ you  _ want. 

What you  _ want _ . 

 

Ben just wants to come, honestly. And make Klaus come. But he also wants more of Klaus skin on his own, and he doesn’t know how to  _ say  _ that. Doesn’t know how to want things, because if he doesn’t want things he can’t be disappointed. “Fucking -- Fuck---Klaus,,” he mutters, smashing his face into the cushion because he wants to say it, he wants to fucking say it but he can feel the heat in his cheeks already. He can’t talk when Klaus is driving him harder into the cushions, a mockery of sex that snaps both their hips and makes the world all soft and stupid at the edges. Ben’s fucking losing it already. 

 

“C’mon, Benny,” Klaus wheedles in a voice that should annoy Ben. It’s like he’s talking to a child, like he’s trying to coerce a five year old to drink his fucking milk. He doesn’t hate it though. It makes him squirm. “C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. I’ll do it. I’ll give you whatever you want.  You’re so good, you’re such a good---” 

 

_ Such a good boy.  _

 

“Push my pants down.” He says it very firmly into the velveteen cushions, but knows that Klaus understood by the sharp, sudden way his body goes tight, and rigid. 

 

“Fuck Benny, I can’t fuck you like this.” Klaus is breathless, as he pushes his weight to his knees and drags both his hands down Ben’s back just so he can shove his shirt up his spine and give him exactly what he wants --- bare skin and hot palms. “Fuck---” Fingers hook into the loose band of his sweat pants and Ben isn’t fucking thinking about anything but chasing that feeling when he pushes his ass up. “Jesus Christ - Benny, I’m not fucking you on the couch in Dad’s study. I’m---I’m probably not about to you...wait. No--- I mean there isn’t even lube in here---” 

 

“Like you and Diego did,” Ben manages, pulling the words up from the rising heat in his belly. “You said you wanted too---” 

 

“Benny, baby, boy---I want to fuck you  _ stupid _ .” Klaus is on him again, one hand in his hair, the other bracing himself against the arm of the couch. “I wanna crawl so far up inside you, you fucking choke on me. I want to fucking bend you over everything,  _ everything _ .  Sometimes I want to fuck you over the kitchen counter just so I can make you come while you’re eating blueberry muffins, okay---okay?” 

 

“--okay,” Ben squeaks, so terribly, terribly hard.  He’d sort of known that Klaus was more than ready for that, but he’d never mentioned it. Certainly never so colorfully. 

 

“I wanna spread you out and finger you until you  _ cry,  _ Benny. I think about it all the time.” Klaus sounds fucking---  _ agonized _ . He’s grinding himself against Ben again, slower this time, and with shallow thrusts like it’s not even on purpose, like he just can’t fucking help it. “I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what I can put in your ass, sometimes it’s my dick, sometimes it’s my tongue - sometimes it’s completely random things, I see them and I think  _ ‘this would fit in Ben’s ass’ _ .  I wanna fucking lick your ass hole until you get  _ bored  _ and fall asleep, you cannot fully encompass how weird that is for me, and I have lost entire hours imagining you in Diego’s lap, riding  _ him _ . Please...please  _ please  _ just tell me what you want, because I’m trying not to emotionally scar you with how bad I want you to sit on my face and suffocate me just a lil bit. _ Be good for me. _ ” 

 

Ben’s holding his breath again and Klaus is shaking so bad, it rattles him. “I want---” Ben starts again, and feels Klaus dick fucking twitch, hard against his left ass cheek. “I want---” 

 

“That’s it baby,” Klaus encourages him, but he sounds wild, feral and breathless. “That’s it, be good for me. Tell me.” 

 

“Fuck. Please.” He’s got his hands on Ben’s skin again, curling over his ribs, thumb pressing gently into his shoulder blade. “I want---”

 

“You can tell me, Benny. I’ll give you anything you want.” Klaus curls himself down over Ben, and kisses his spine and Ben’s going to come before he ever gets a chance to say what he wants. “ _ C’mon.  _ Say it for me, baby. Tell me.” 

 

“Come---come on my ass?” It’s not exactly what he wants, but it’s all he can manage to say. “Like how Diego---He had you in the chair---” 

 

“ _ Had me _ ,” Klaus...growls. It’s a growl. Klaus growls out the word. “I fucking knew you were watching.” 

 

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ben’s a bigger creep than Diego, maybe it’s why he’s never bothered to ask Diego why. “Can you---Will you---” 

 

But Klaus is already shoving his sweat pants down, and spreading his ass cheeks and Ben feels the blood rush to his face at being so fucking exposed. “Good boy,” Klaus tells him wild and winded and reckless, it shakes through Ben, makes his balls draw up tight and hot. “Fucking---you are just so---” He spits on Ben’s asshole. “Shit--sorry. Sorry, you don’t like---” 

 

Except. “I...I might like it,” Ben admits, in a small, floaty voice that doesn’t sound like him. “I might---” But then, there’s a finger pressing against his ass. Just a single finger  _ tip _ , pushing, pushing and then---there’s a very small part of Klaus in his ass and Ben just...fucking comes. 

 

_ He was doing so good too.  _

Klaus still has his fucking---still has a fucking finger (just the fucking tip) in Ben’s ass, and Ben can feel himself clenching and fluttering, like he wants more but --- “God,” Klaus groans, pressing down a little and it makes Ben cry out, still coming. “That is just--- _ Ben _ . Fuck.” 

 

Ben pushes back. 

 

“Fuck,” Klaus hisses, sunk unto the first knuckle into Ben. It’s nothing. It’s  _ nothing _ , compared to Klaus’ dick, or even Diegos. Less than a tongue, his mind supplies and that’s--- Okay. Enough of  _ that  _ thought. “Fuck, Benny. Christ. I need---” 

 

“Come on my ass,” Ben says again, no less clearly, no less pressed against the cushions. He’s just come, but he still fucking wants it. He’s still  _ hard _ . “Please, please, I want---” 

 

“Don’t beg,” Klaus chokes a little, pulling his finger out and that’s just---that’s to much to think about. “You don’t have to beg. I’ll--if you fucking want it baby boy, I’ll give you anything, Christ, let me just---” And he can hear it, the dry slap of skin against skins so familiar Ben think it might define him as a person. Klaus is jerking off. 

 

“No no, stop,” he says suddenly, forcing himself up from the hidden depths of the cushion. “No, I want---” 

 

Klaus stops, just like that, and it goes through Ben like a fucking bullet. Klaus stops, because Ben asked. “I can---” 

 

“Do it like Diego did.” Even that much is hard to say. Ben is physically incapable of describing what he wants himself. He can’t. He just---cannot. “Like in his room, before you went to the club. I want it---”  _ I want it, _ and nothing more. It’s what he wants. 

 

“Diego was pretty rough,” Klaus cautions, his voice tight as he fits himself a little more deeply between Ben’s spread thighs. He gets himself in place though and the first press of his dick between Ben’s ass---

 

“Oh,” Ben says, out loud, accidentally. “ _ Fuck _ . Oh fuck!”

 

“You are just too perfect,” Klaus laughs, dropping down hard over him. He plants a hand right between Ben’s shoulder blades, presses him right down into the cushions and it’s so grounding, it’s so  _ good _ .  His other hand, he hooks up under Ben’s hip, hauling him up to meet his thrust and he’s---

 

He’s fucking right up against Ben, not so very different than any other time, but it’s so fucking...it’s so much  _ more _ .  Ben can feel it all, the slap of Klaus fucking balls where they bounce off his own is fucking -  _ what the actual fuck.   _ The head of his cock drags over Ben’s asshole and that -  _ that _ . 

 

“I’m gonna fuck you just like this,” Klaus tell him, all a whispered hiss. “Sink right into your ass, I swear to fucking God, you’re gonna take it all Benny, I just know it.  God baby, yeah, like that---” He lets Ben’s hip go, but Ben’s still moving, pushing up and rocking forward to the motion Klaus has set in place. “Fuck, look at you - you are---God, Ben.  _ Fuck _ .”  He moves his hand from Ben’s spine, to curl his hand over the arm of the couch. “I fucking---I wish Diego could see you like this.” 

 

Oh. Oh God. Ben bites the fucking cushion, so startled by the sweep of fucking _want_ that goes through him. His balls draw up and he thinks he might---actually be crying. 

 

“Oh God - you, Jesus--- _ you like that _ .” Suddenly---Klaus’ body snaps and Ben can’t see or think, all he can do is feel. “God, you fucking---” And he’s fucking up against Ben in earnest now, chasing his own pleasure and Ben can’t even---he  _ wants  _ that. He wants Klaus to come so badly. “You want Diego to see how good you are, fuck. You want him to see how hard you get me off.” 

 

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Ben’s spine curls and he raises his head to breath, finds his jaw caught in the soft cup of Klaus palm and when a thumb slips between his lips well...Ben sucks. On instinct. He just fucking does it.

 

“ _ Benny _ ,” Klaus sobs, fucking faster, harder, and the head of his cock catches on Ben’s asshole again but this time Klaus  _ comes _ ,  with the bite of Ben’s teeth sinking hot into his thumb.  Klaus doesn’t stop, fucks himself right through is orgasm, right through the mess of come dripping down Ben’s balls, and it’s the press of his chest to Ben’s back, the slide of their sweat, the kiss of their skin that makes him come a second time, spilling all over the soft green velvet. 

 

He---He thinks he falls asleep. Ben’s not really sure. He’s floating in a place that is very much the real world, but it’s soft and hot again at the edges. Calloused fingertips brush the hair from his eyes and when he opens them, it’s...it’s  _ Diego _ .  With one hand in his hair, and the other laying very gently on the small of his come-sticky back, fingers drumming a steady beat in the mess. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Affection erection! 
> 
> Grow with me, hos. Tell me about the feels.


End file.
